Keep Right On To The End Of The Road

My back hurts a lot. It has been Heritage Open Days weekend and I was dragged out to look at high cost facilities preserved to remind us of our past. There are many wonderful places, and little known treasures to be found, but there are temptations to the urge to debate. As someone who thinks that Thomas Becket had it coming, it can make me an unwelcome guest at a place where the devout pray to him. When they remind me that he scattered silver coins to the poor pilgrims I remind them that it was the equivalent of chucking £50 notes at football supporters and the money had been obtained by monastic financial and property frauds, malpractices and tax swindles imposed by him as Chancellor. Reginald Fitz Urse, whose manor and lands at Wrotham lay halfway between palaces of the Archbishop in Otford and Maidstone, and had suffered, was responding as any hard pressed tax payer would at the time. King Henry II simply wanted to have a look at the accounts. But it is difficult telling worshippers not to be judgemental.

Which brings me to the money and the roads. The places we visited could be reached by “B” roads at best, and more often by distances over Unclassified (back) roads. It was rough riding, and the roads reminded me of the days when I first cycled when rural roads might have little more than a spray of tar and gravel over limited or negligible foundations. Our car has decent suspension, and comfortable seats, but it was doing a lot of bouncing. This happened on stretches of “A”, trunk roads as well and we have noticed that many of these are in poor condition. Moreover, our journeys were in areas near to towns, motorways or dual carriageway major routes, and busy railway lines. There is a high density of population, and none of it can be regarded as “remote”.

As traffic levels have increased; with increased intensity of vehicle use, the roads need a great deal more expensive maintenance. Also, the vehicles have changed. Not only are cars often heavier, and driven harder, but the commercial vehicles now common are in a different order to those when these roads were first engineered to deal with the traffic of the middle decades of the 20th Century. They are bigger, heavier, and carry more, whether trucks or vans, and modern logistics means that they travel widely and are not confined to motorways or major trunk routes.

A neighbour and good friend was a road engineer. The houses on the development had a few paving slabs as drives, thrown down just before the builders went into liquidation, so many chose to lay new drives. Workmen would spend a couple of days putting down a driveway. My neighbour did his own, and was taking a long time, and doing a very different job. I asked why. He had worked on some major road projects and explained the basic principles of road foundations. There were plenty of good examples around.

When the M62 was built, largely at the urging of Barbara Castle who had been talking to road engineers but to the derision of the Ministry of Transport planners and statisticians, much of the carriageway was laid to motorway standard near major towns. It was expected to function as a series of linked by-passes, but on other stretches, notably the East Riding section beyond the A1, for reasons of economy, the Ministry decided on having limited foundations against advice. The engineers were proved right, the M62 soon achieved high levels of heavy freight traffic, and in the East Riding the foundations quickly began to collapse and the whole section had to be rebuilt to much higher standards, at a huge added cost.

One feature explained to me that was when foundations became deformed and the surface uneven, then vehicles would “thump” up and down. With ordinary cars this was not much of an issue, but with anything heavy and with high axle weights, this would worsen the damage, and at an increasing rate. I could believe it, as once I had the job of diverting an Armoured Brigade of four regiments moving on its tracks down a side road, and inside a couple of hours the road and its foundations were torn apart and up to two foot taken off the level. Unless dealt with early a roadway under continuing pressure could collapse quickly, and sometimes without notice. Any services underneath would be damaged and liable to failure.

We are talking serious money. A back of the envelope calculation for the few miles I spent driving around a varied collection of back roads, “B” roads, and the few miles of “A” roads, would mean around £100 million to reconstruct them to modern needs, taking account of the range, weight, and intensity of vehicle traffic they now have. For the county as a whole, call it at least a billion. It could be needed soon, because some of these roads are deteriorating fast. In many cases the verges have gone and the edges are already collapsed. The potholes are getting bigger and deeper. If we ever do get a hard winter again the frost damage will be extensive. Surfaces are eroding fast, and fracture lines are common. The rutting that is now common shows a great many foundations are impaired. As other routes become clogged or under repair, many of these roads are experiencing not just local traffic but a good deal of incidental other traffic.

One thing is clear, it is that routine road maintenance, as well as much else that is “routine” in central and local government, has not seen its expenditure keep pace either with basic needs, advancing costs, or increased demand. Bitter experience of budgeting tells me that one of the first, often the first, casualty of retrenchment, cuts, or discarded plans, is maintenance and upkeep. If you do not do the basic work, and are late in dealing with worsening issues, then you can finish up with something that is no longer serviceable. Our road system beyond the motorways and major trunk routes is already in an advancing stage of decline. This is being written by someone who visits preserved railways and has all the ancient prejudices in favour of rail.

If you want to understand the thinking, then go to a heritage site which has ancient ruins. When I try to explain to those who love these places and their myths that it was the maintenance costs that did for most of them they do not believe me. Consider the state of the Exchequer over much of the past, the problems with taxation, and just how much it cost to maintain such places for so few people. It applied to the castles and to a great many other major constructions of the middle ages. Moreover the urge to build new prestige buildings added to all the burdens and something had to go.

It is surprising how quickly an infrastructure can collapse. For catastrophe hunters, one sport is trying to guess which advanced economy could be the next to go. At the moment the UK is at shortening odds, so keep your eye on the road.

Temperance Is A Virtue

Frank Skinner, comedian, performer and a commentator on our times, has been temperance since 1986, when he realised that persistent heavy drinking was doing real damage. He has put his head above the parapet in support of the British Medical Association declaration that alcohol consumption is at levels that present serious health issues amongst increasing numbers of the population, of all ages. When I looked for a suitable image from the web it was serendipity that one showed a Band of Hope demonstration in Leek, Staffordshire, from 1907, with the Skinner name prominent above a shop.

Look closely, and you see that for a small town, it was a large demonstration. Into the early decades of the 20th Century, from small beginnings in the early 19th, the Movement had large followings across the Atlantic Isles, and complex and extensive organisation, albeit divided, too stratified, and given to spending too much time on obscure theological debates.

My personal acquaintance with Temperance organisations was a brief one. In the early 1950’s a jolly red headed girl with flashing blue eyes invited me and my friends to a social event in a local church hall. When we arrived there, we found that it was a GAY event; that is the Guild of Abstaining Youth, motto, you did not need to drink to be gay. In those days the word conveyed its original meaning in the provinces. Whilst it was for the most part an ordinary social occasion, unluckily, there was a price, an homily from a church elder on the virtues of temperance, intended to recruit us.

Even more unluckily, she chose to cite Gilbert Keith Chesterton as someone who would have done better sober. As I had read many of his works and she hadn’t, there was a debate she did not welcome. Worse still, it was apparent that before arriving we had been in the Marquis of Granby pub first a few doors away. We had been rugger training and we needed to restore our liquid balance with Shipstones Best Mild. We assumed we had lost a lot of liquid. The evening ended badly.

By this time the old Temperance Movement was in retreat for a variety of reasons, too much to go into here. One factor was that drinking was then much more under control than it had been in the past, especially in some towns where the local council, often with a strong Methodist element, limited the number of licences as much as possible. Not only were the outlets for the sale of drink reduced, with strict opening hours imposed, but the stuff itself was far from cheap. Spirits were very expensive, wines little known, and costly, as were the range of other stronger drinks. The beer was characteristically weaker, a legacy of two world wars. If your budget was limited to that, your stomach usually gave in long before the brain.

Added factors were that there was no credit of any kind, and working hours were a great deal longer. Saturday night was the only time available for many. As there was little interest in total prohibition, except for a small number of places which had exceptionally rigorous religious communities, the Movement lost impetus. Another factor was inevitably the media, films, TV and radio invariably portrayed drink as a necessary social skill, and temperance people as a miserable bunch. The distillers and brewers had quickly recognised the values of product placement.

In its time, the Movement had been a major agent of social reform, because it took in not only the interests of families, but critically of the children their health and education. It was very much an educational movement, and with an agenda of social interaction in an improving and positive community setting. It crossed class barriers, although with few of the upper classes much involved, they were not known as “The Beerage” for nothing.

It was that most shocking of things, a substantially lower middle and skilled working class supported form of political movement, which included those who did not get the vote until after 1865 in some cases and 1885 in most, with the women not voting until after 1918. We know a good deal about the leadership of the Movement from the works of Peter Turner Winskill (1834-1912). Although many academic historians turn up their noses at him, no discernable Marxist ideas, if his work is checked in detail it holds up. He was an Iron Moulder by trade, before taking on senior duties in the Movement. At its peak, the Movement numbered millions, gave a commitment and non-alcoholic full social life, and further education in skills and trades to many.

One of the main planks of the Temperance Movement was the claim that the drinks trade was not a free market in the way it worked. It was common in some trades for wages to be paid only in a public house. It was often a part of the job to drink with others. In many cases, beer was a great deal safer than the water or anything else. The pub trade was increasingly in the hands of the brewers, and they relentlessly expanded the number of outlets. Regulation was a matter of a battle for control over the freedom of people to decide for themselves.

Today, all we have is the medical and health lobby, AA and support groups with a few cheerleaders, and rare individuals like Frank Skinner to ask the awkward questions about what we are doing to ourselves, especially the young. We have some government publicity, and the seriousness of government can be measured by the size of the entertainment expenses of the Departments of State and all the Quangos. It takes some doing to shift booze on that scale. The affairs of state may be in chaos, but we lead the world in the size of our official drinks bills. It adds to the spending for economic growth, call it practical quantatitive easing.

One thing is certain, it is all a lot easier to do, and to fund these days for everyone from the age of eight and upwards (yes I have since kids swigging white cider) to an extent impossible fifty years ago. Moreover, there is a seamless transition. Long ago there were few cheap fizzy drinks for the masses, in recent decades there is now an abundance of all sorts of stuff, much of it choc a bloc with stimulants in the form of caffeine and high power sweeteners, sugars, and synthetic flavourings.

From there it is a very short step to alcopops, much the same sort of chemical mix but with alcohol; sometimes not so strong, but far stronger than a 1950’s pint of bitter. Once there, then the cocktails of fashion, and strong other drinks follow. Some of this is not so good, cheap eastern vodkas giving instant brain damage for the unwary. With so many outlets selling a wide variety, so much time available, so much credit, and a lifestyle culture for many of the young now built around binge drinking, the consequences are inevitable. For those who are more fastidious, the supermarkets now offer a range of wines at a comparative price that once would have been a good class stock in the few wine merchants in the provinces.

It is probable that in attempting to control the drink problems, the game is now lost, and the situation irrecoverable. When politicians, indeed party leaders, head marches of protest to the closure of a booze bottling plant as a sure fire way of winning voter sympathy and hopefully their votes, it says a lot about attitudes to temperance. Especially, when evidence points to alcoholic abuse being a major problem in the constituencies they hope to win. The Pubcorps have made great efforts, closing down tens of thousands of pubs in the name of the greater glory of property development, and leaving many small communities without any alcohol outlets, but the supermarkets have more than made up for it by all their cheap offers across the board, or rather counter.

The trouble is that the politicians do not appreciate the implications of letting it all hang out, and not simply in health terms. It involves policing, more on the streets, with more powers to deal with the consequences. It involves difficult tax issues. It involves careful monitoring of what is on sale, to get rid of the increasing amount of toxic stuff that is out there. It involves more closely monitoring all the outlets. In our modern world there is no hope of recreating any of the movements of the past. To attempt to go back to the limitations of the past is electoral suicide for any party that attempted it. Education is hopeless, with teachers claiming it is a human right to get plastered at weekends, possibly in the same pubs and clubs as the kids.

So any control or regulation is down to ourselves, and how much notice we take of the doctors, and the occasional homily from individuals, like Frank Skinner. Anyone for a cup of tea?

Oh For A Muse Of Fire

The man of learning and science had found a quiet place in the orchard of Woolsthorpe Manor, deep in the rolling country, where he could exercise his mind at leisure about matters beyond the ordinary business of his life. The nights were lengthening, and despite the warmth of the day and the dryness of weather, still he had begun to feel the dampness of the evenings, a sign of impending middle age. It was a reminder of what he should do, and he was glad to put aside the calling that had embraced him for so long. The pestilence in Cambridge had given him the opportunity for escape and time for contemplation. A new beginning must be made, for many years now he had earned little profit but a great deal of anxiety. Years of his life spent, never to be reclaimed, poring over ill written books, preparing ink to be spilt in useless words and symbols on dusty paper, trying to comprehend the gibbering of madmen and fools, in the dirt, foul habits, and smell of academia. Whenever he had tried to bring a new proposition forward he had brought down on his head a tirade of abuse and criticism. They were a precious, insufferable, mean minded group of men, the scholars, the scientists and the pretended logical mathematicians, and he wanted no more of them.

As for most of those who pretended to an interest in science, all they ever wanted to know was when lead might be made into gold or some distant light in the sky would bring them a rich widow. If he found the one, within a year all the church roofs would be stripped, and if the other, even more men of property would be found dead in their beds by a pillow dampened by the last breaths. He would be blamed by a howling mob and cast into The Fleet for necromancy and the casting of spells. The Royal Society were the worst asking for alchemists tricks to exclaim at, pretty light shows to gape at, or mountebanks’ surprises for their wonder. Show them the elegance of mathematics and the purity of reason and they could but sneer and sniff at their snuff. Hooke was everywhere, feeding their prejudices with his own puerile proofs, and having always visited the unknown before any other man.

Isaac knew he had many talents, and with the premium that poetry could command, never mind the Royal favours, the ladies with low décolletage, and all the personal adulation, he had arrived at the conclusion by a priori reasoning that it was time to make a little money. The difficulty was gauging and attracting the notice of the great persons of the Court. Rochester had risen in this way, and had died full of fame and respect. An end from well earned pox and drink in the fullness of life was inestimably better than one with a sermon and but a disputed calculation to leave as a memory. A shadow crossed his line of sight and he held his breath, waiting for the insult or the idiocy. “You be sitting on damp grass, good sir. You know the old saying, wet on the buttocks means rot in your futtocks.” Phoebe Langsdale waved a finger at her master and moved on, easing the basket of apples on the top of her well-fleshed thigh. Her family had come with the manor and the warning that a curse would fall on the owner who sent them packing. It must have been a most dreadful malediction to exceed the horrors of having Phoebe for a servant. She called over her shoulder, “And a hot day for the head means a chill night for your ears, shall I warm your night-cap?”

Isaac Newton banged the back of his head on the tree trunk to ease the anguish in his mind, and heard the rustle of leaves. Hell would be a room full of Phoebe’s chattering for eternity. He began to scribble, “I call upon thee! And compel! Thyself to be thy proper Hell!” He reflected, perhaps it was too pessimistic for the modern mind, and Phoebe would take some explaining, he would not want her to be mistaken for a lady close to his heart and body. Her voice floated from the kitchen, “When the nights be getting long, then old bones be not so strong.” Yes, it was autumn; Newton wrote again, “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” and then considered; after a few seconds he scratched it out. It was obvious and trite, and not worthy poetry. His mind began to form an idea about something for publication in the next spring, when the times would be better. He thoughts of daffodils and began to tease out the possibilities. “Cloud? Vales, hills? When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Lake, trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.” He looked at the paper, dear lord, this was dreadful stuff, and a reader would roll on the floor with mirth. The raucous cracked voice of the maid of all work again came to his ears. Oh mercy, she was singing “Greensleeves” again. It was a song of long ago; perhaps an ancient tale in verse would be a success. “The way was long, the wind was cold. The minstrel was infirm and old.” But where was the man, what was he doing, what was it all going to be about, could a poem of past times really begin in such a mundane way. Would any one of sense ever read on?

It was thanks to Phoebe that his latest attempt at publication had attracted such widespread criticism and anger. Had her voice and clumsy way of working had not so distracted him, the mathematics would not have contained such a simple and vital error. It was not that which had caused the trouble; it might soon have been rectified, along with other changes in the proof of the book. It was the loon Thomas Beverley who had read the script without his consent, perceived in his algebra that the world would expire in the coming January, and had rushed out a tract on the streets using Newton’s name to make his sales.

Every time Newton had entered hall at Trinity College thereafter, some drunken divine would call, “Still here, eh, Newton?” A great many of the pamphlets had been sold in taverns and amongst the dissenting sects, so almost the entire population of London had migrated to Hampstead, been frozen stiff and covered with a light dusting of snow. They were still burning effigies of Newton at crossroads in the revenge of those who cannot forget.

He picked up the pen again, “This the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.” No, his mind must be tiring. Phoebe’s voice trilled again, amusing her small niece, “Ladies go nym. nym, nym; doctors go trot, trot, trot; butchers go galloper, galloper, galloper.” Newton shook his head. The pen moved again, another attempt, “Cast a cold eye On Life, on death. Horseman, pass by!” No, it implied a disrespect of faith, and the English was poor. Again came Phoebe’s counterpoint, “Ollie Cromwell, with an axe, hit Whining Wentworth forty whacks. When he saw what he had done, he hit King Charlie forty-one!” He felt a pang of pity for the niece, more of that and she would have a troubled life. But he shouted to Phoebe to have a care, these were difficult times. Silly sayings and malicious evidence could have a man sent to Hell or Connaught, or even worse Trinity at Dublin, where the drunkenness and excrescences defied even those of his own college.

Newton wrote, “As our life is very short, so it is very miserable, and therefore it is as well it is short.” Again it was wrong, he could not see, for example, the good people of Uppingham liking such a sentiment. But they did not matter in his schemes. They had only scraps of silver to offer. Newton wanted newly minted money, warm from the die, bags of it, spices, fat meats, the delights of the tropics, silks, and cushions for his seats, all the flattery and deference he could command with the full fruits of arrogance and power. All that would matter would be the celebration of his name.

Phoebe had fallen over the cat, and was beating it with a broom, another of its nine lives gone. Another beginning, “For he who lives more lives than one, More deaths than one must die.” This was ridiculous, a complete absence of wit or style. He was now at a loss. Along the lane Tom the Tranter was passing, a man capable of distracting even those who lay in the Churchyard and Newton heard the shouted proposition he made to Phoebe. He judged that if that was his appetite, then the tranter had been spending too much time with his horse. “You put your money where your mouth is!” was Phoebe’s rejoinder, confident that Tom was not a paying man.

Newton thought for a moment, money, he had to think of those who had it, there was the path to the garnering of wealth, something to appeal to the aristocracy; those beings who dictated success in all the arts; and in literature by their patronage. “”The Stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand, To prove the Upper Classes, Have still the upper hand.” At last, the words of truth and understanding had come, he could see his way forward.

Phoebe stood over him again, “Well?” “We need a long talk about the housekeeping, master, I was three farthings short this week and…?” She talked for some time. He struggled with his jacket to pull out the purse while she rattled on, unceasingly. He stood, found the purse and thrust several pence into her hand. “Oh, not that much, master.” she said, giving him back some of the coin, and counting it three times. He sat down, picked up the pencil and paper again, shivered as he tried to concentrate, and realised that the trickle of consciousness had been lost. What was it to be; a great ducal palace he would call Xanadu, pleasure domes, walls and towers, a mighty fountain? All gone; flown from memory. The immortal verse that was to bring him fortune had been lost in the thickets of Phoebe’s tangled arithmetic. He banged the back of his head against the tree, and as he sat stiff, felt the blow of a large apple that had detached itself on his encouragement. It hit the crown of his head and added a sharp physical pain to the mental torment.

Newton stifled the scream of rage that was rising from his gorge. As her plump body lumbered its way towards the house he rose, picked up the apple, and threw it as hard as he could. He was never a sporting man, and he was well wide of the mark. The apple curved over her head and went out of sight beyond the hedge and into the rutted road. A moment later there was shouting and a red burned dirty face appeared through the branches of hornbeam. It was Tom the Tranter, returning from his errand, who waved his fist and swore at Phoebe. She shook hers back and pointed towards Newton. “One sin shall destroy a sinner!” she shouted, which only served to make Tom angrier and more obscene. Newton attempted to quiet him with humour, “What goes up must come down!” he cried with a forced laugh that was as ugly as his mood.

It was another error of judgment to add to the many he made in his dealings with the lower orders. This triggered a richer volley of abuse, for Tom was very angry. “Why should an honest work man be a thing for a rich man’s jest? Is not my life solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short enough for you? For a man of quality you be a damned fool and may you rot in hell.” Newton tried to make his peace, but did not altogether succeed. Tom though, did remember that he had trade from Newton in the past and might need more in the future, there were few enough men with any coin in this part of the country, and withdrew muttering and cursing his way down the road to Stainby.

Phoebe turned to Newton, “What goes up must come down, indeed!” She rubbed her hands fiercely on her apron. “My old dad, he says that for each action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” Phoebe sniffed with righteousness, and returned to her kitchen. Newton made his way back to the tree. He slumped back hard, causing the branches to sway and crackle. He picked up his pencil and paper again; now it was becoming late for poetry, mystery, and the beauty of language. The second apple hit him on the same part of the head as the first, and to mock him a shower of others bounced off his limbs.

Newton spent some minutes rehearsing Tom’s range of invective and embroidering it into his hatred for Phoebe. The vision of her became a pasty wobbling moon that obliterated the sun and the heavens from his mind. Her last mouthing was far, far, beyond the realms of madness and nonsense, and triggered the most powerful anger his temper could command. The whirl of his mind made him tremble that the universe would collapse in a blinding flash. Isaac relapsed into stilled silence for a full five minutes. Then, he began to doodle calculations below the scribbled and defaced words.

The Madness Of Prime Minister George

As speculation launched on the net about the Prime Minister’s health, and as I am certainly not disposed to be kind to him, many would have thought I would have been amongst the first to cut to the chase. But it may not be that at all, it could be quite complicated. First, the simple question, ‘ang on a bit squire, what do we know? It is said that there is a list circulated in Whitehall circles about what the PM can and cannot eat or drink. A medical man has seen this and deduced that it is consistent with someone who is on early generation anti-depressants, which have significant dietary and other side effects because recent generation ones cannot cope with the alleged condition.

What else do we know? Well the PM is getting older by the day, who isn’t? Also, he is in a very stressful job, all those idiots he has working for him. Moreover the job entails extensive travel and contact with people from across the world. Enough to put anybody’s immune system under severe strain, but this does not make him mentally ill. It might make him unpredictable, exhausted, and very grumpy, all those idiots again, but no more than I am on a bad day after dealing with the bank, the insurance company, and trying to persuade a plumber to come.

So what else can happen that entails a diet list as long as your arm, and as complicated as the list of contents on a supermarket food package cheap offer? As many people become older, all sorts of glitches can affect the body. Many begin to react to gluten, others to dairy foods, some to both. Others begin to have skin issues, and other reactions to common products, entailing visits to dermatologists and others specialists. The really unlucky can contract multiple chemical sensitivity.

Recent research had identified a brain reaction to this complaint, which apparently also occurs with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and ME, Gulf War Syndrome, US Vets Agent Orange reactions, some true Allergy, and perhaps others involving synthetic chemicals, notably fragrances. Along with fragrance issues can come severe reactions to a related chemical family, that is synthetic flavourings and flavour enhancers. As for synthetic fragrances, do not forget, they are engineered to hit the brain hard.

These synthetic chemicals in the food and around the house have become hugely stronger in recent years. So, read your food packaging lately? Wondered why the tummy rumbles after the breakfast sausages? In addition, there are some chemicals added to wines as stabilisers that do not suit some people.

Unless you are at the wrong end of some of these complaints you cannot know how much they disrupt your lives, require constant vigilance about diet, and how they add to life’s difficulties. Those in busy demanding jobs have real trouble. If the PM’s immune system is affected, and if he had had severe inflammation of the gut etc. it will take a lot of effort, and a good deal of rest to deal with it.

The real problem that many people face when they have these problems is that the doctors they deal with haven’t a clue about such complexities, they just give the problem a convenient label, often tell them it is in the mind, throw some inappropriate medication at it, and tick the boxes. In any case there are few specialists in the field and it is very difficult, often impossible, to get a referral.

So, is there anyone you know who is having problems and the pills don’t work? If so, please do not assume that it is all in the mind. Remember, for two hundred years King George III was said to be mad, now it seems that it was likely to have been porphyria. Something his doctors knew nothing about, and few modern doctors are aware of or know how to treat.

Tax Havens – Another One Bust – The Cayman Islands

Tax Havens – Another One Bust – The Cayman Islands

With the media and our political leaders fixed on the election campaign, the continuing jostling for position over spending, and looking for good smears of one kind or another, out there in the real world things are becoming out of control. The G20 has held another feast day to little purpose, and the worlds financial experts have had a nice photograph taken after dinner but not much else. In the meantime there is a story that China may let some of its weaker hedge funds default. The question is who would the Chinese prefer to suffer the most? Just as worrying, another tax haven in real trouble with unknown and potentially dangerous consequences is the Cayman Islands.

Guess who could be holding the bag in both cases? Yes, the British taxpayer could be called to the rescue yet again. Perhaps I should change the comment on all this from “Bloggo ergo sum” to “Ad nauseam”, it would be appropriate in more ways than one. It is argued if there is a major crash in this jurisdiction it will be a major event on the scale of those in 2008 that nearly triggered a catastrophic failure in the world’s monetary systems. Because these tax havens are secrecy jurisdictions there is no means of knowing beforehand who will be affected, to what extent, and with what collateral damage.

On Friday 1 May in “More Taxing Problems” relating to the UK taking over direct rule in the bankrupt Turks and Caicos Islands, I referred back to the Wednesday 25 March and an item on “A Taxing Problem” on The Bahamas, also where the government has difficulties, which was a revised version of my letter in the FT in February 2000. It suggested that dealing with the Tax Havens might not be a simple business if things went wrong. Yes, the date is right, 2000 it was.

If the governments of Tax Havens which are either UK controlled or Commonwealth members as former colonies collapse because they cannot fund themselves, then who is going to bail them out? There is serious, because whilst the ordinary people will need all the help they can get, just to hand over funds without major structural tax reforms entails giving huge indirect financial support to mega rich celebrities, show biz people, billionaire financiers, sundry Ponzi scheme operators, the Granny Basher property dealers, and of course all those lovely people engaged in free market medication, or rather the narcotics drug trades.

None of this makes comfortable reading. Most “Havens” have rich mobile elites owning property in fortified and heavily guarded settlements serviced by cheap migrant labour and luxury commodities supplied from abroad. The majority of the ordinary people live in real poverty, and also lose out because much of the tax base is regressive sales taxes and other charges. It could become highly unstable.

The Cayman Islands implications spill over into Jamaica, The Bahamas into Haiti, and others into places with their own problems. In Antigua, as we know, all those Texan cricket fans are in real trouble, as in gaol. Has anybody seen Bernie lately?

Richard Murphy of the Tax Research Blog has posted on the Cayman Islands issue setting out the problems bluntly and in full:

“No, you didn’t read that incorrectly. Cayman is insolvent, bust, broke, unable to pay its debts. This is not a rumour, this is fact. This fact is confirmed by the speaking notes used by the Hon. McKeeva Bush for a meeting held with senior Cayman civil servants, government boards and private sector business leaders last Thursday (27 Aug).

So desperate is the current crisis that the Caymans turned to the UK to cover September’s deficit, and have been politely told they may not borrow the necessary funds to pay wages and other commitments in that month.

That means just one thing: Cayman is insolvent. It cannot pay its debts. The UK has refused to let Cayman borrow because it does not believe it will cut government spending and it has seen no commitment by Cayman to raise taxes. And the UK makes it clear in no uncertain terms that is exactly what it thinks Cayman should do.
Look at what he (Chris Bryant) is saying:

1. The US is fragile;
2. The hedge fund business is fragile;
3. The G20 will have an impact;
4. The Foot Commission will have an impact;
5. Trust fund income will fall;
6. Cayman cannot assume it will keep tax haven status;
6. Taxes must be imposed.

It’s hard to see how much more could have been said to make clear that Cayman’s business model is dead. This is extraordinary. Bear in mind Cayman has the thirteenth highest GDP per head in the world, and the highest in the Caribbean. It has more multinational corporation subsidiaries than any other tax haven. It has more banks than any other tax secrecy jurisdiction, and more hedge funds too. And it is bust.

So what are they proposing to do? Unbelievably all proposed taxes are on ordinary people in Cayman:

Imposing taxes on money transfers from foreign workers in Cayman, – Jamaicans being the biggest group;
Introducing property taxes;
Revision to various miscellaneous fees, some of which have remained unchanged for decades;
Increasing customs duties;
Increasing alcohol and tobacco duties;
Increasing gasoline tax;
Legislate the requirement for money in dormant bank accounts to be turned over to the Government; and the
Introduction of a national lottery

That is grossly unfair on the poor in Cayman (the very people the UK says should be protected), shows no real broadening of the tax base but does, most of all, look like rearranging the deck chairs as the ship is sinking. Which is extraordinary by itself in two ways. First, for a place supposedly so clever this is a remarkably poor list of initiatives, and second it does of course say yet again that the vested interest of wealth is being protected.

The odd thing is that is not possible in this situation. If Cayman really is insolvent, and that seems likely, then it is very clear that law and order may fail, property rights may not be protected, and so on. Wealth, in other words, is under real threat and such is the size of Cayman activity I doubt much of it can get out in a hurry without causing massive instability.

So this really is a crisis at the heart of the whole tax haven / secrecy jurisdiction system. The totem of the offshore location is seeing its business model fail, and with it the whole edifice of offshore – including the whole hedge fund edifice that claims to be built around this small island, could fall with it.

This could be a Lehman scale failure. And all for the sake of a few dollars. But a few dollars none the less the UK will not let them have.

Watch this unfold: if London sticks to its guns (and it should) then Cayman is over as a tax haven – as they themselves predict. The fall out will be enormous. The whole hidden economy could fall apart with it – and do not think that will not have onshore ramifications, because it will.

This is what Richard says, so what else is there?

From The Nassau Guardian (29th April 2009)

“Prime Minister Hubert Ingraham said the revenue shortfall experienced this fiscal year is so drastic that collecting "every dollar" that it is owed to the government will not be enough to remedy the situation."The hard reality of revenue shortfalls is hitting this Caribbean tax haven hard, and it's having to borrow $200m from a consortium of banks:"If you are not making the money, how else do you recoup it? By taxing you more? How else [do we] do it other than taxing you more?"

Ingraham asked. "There are only (so many) ways to do it: Cut back on services, which means you cut back on people and the delivery of services; increase taxes; or borrow; or a combination of all three."

A contributor to the Tax Justice Network site added this:

"Wondering if some of those delinquent debtors to the Bahamian Treasury on their real property taxes include wealthy individuals who have bought their luxurious behind-locked-gates residences to acquire economic residency, in order to avoid paying taxes due to their original home state? Are there individuals double-dipping on the cheating? And what about the foreign owned banks and trust companies whose very existence there is to provide tax-cheat services? ... Do they have an obligation to pay taxes and are any delinquent?"

Let me see, a tax haven is a community centred on a very rich minority who more or less answer to nobody and pay little or no taxes to anybody anywhere. It is serviced by a dominating financial sector that uses expatriates and others. The local economy that supports this is largely a low wage sector many of which are recent migrants. The politicians are in their pockets and their families employed in the high pay end of the financial industry.

There is unending hype about what makes this a wonderful place to be, and how all those rich are making everybody happy. Does this remind you of anywhere? I’ll give you a clue; some of us call it Iceland On Thames. No wonder our government is passionate on recreating a large and corrupt financial sector in the City, they have a lot of favours to pay off.

Once again, The Big Question, who amongst our political masters have offshore Trusts and accounts in secrecy jurisdictions, and where are they? Watch out now for all those who will be urging help for the plutocrats in peril in tax havens, it might suggest who they are. There may be more to come.

Any Old Isms? Any Old Isms? Any Any Any Old Ism's?

In the last few centuries, how many is debateable, humanity has collected a number of ‘Isms to direct the mind, explain our behaviour, and give us comfort in times of trial. To these might be added “Ics”, or “Ians”, a number of “Ologies” of one sort or another. Then there are “Mania’s”. These are not exclusive and are subject to interpretation. My Ism is your Ology, your Ology is their Mania, and their Mania is my Ism. I hope this is quite clear. For this comment I will stick to Isms, because I have had a lot of them in my time, some enforced, others as fashion, and now and again because one had a passing attraction, like a steam hauled train going through when you are waiting for the dreary modern rattletrap for which you have a ticket.

Some of the most fervent and anxious opinions out there in the media and on the net are all to do with Isms. All I need to do is mention one in particular and express a slight reservation, and then there will be a thunder of hooves in the distance, or worse a lot of abusive and threatening mails in the inbox getting in the way of my Fantasy Football operations.

The essential trouble with an Ism that has been around a long time is that when it is further from its roots, the human condition changes, and as other radical changes occur not only does it morph into something quite different, but these stresses in turn spawn Schisms, so an Ism has many sub-Isms. This is getting complicated, if you do not believe me study ecclesiastical history. It is said that at one time in Yorkshire the proliferation of dissenting chapels was such that in some places almost every family ran their own chapel. It exists elsewhere, but probably I have already upset too many people.

That is just religion. In economics and commerce it becomes a lot more serious and emotional. Even the flagellants of old cannot match for fervour the proponents of this Ism or that Ism relating to the ordinary business of life and money. Capitalism, Socialism, Communism, Corporatism, Fascism (nowadays sometimes disguised as Nationalism) all these and more are on offer for those who seek some kind of explanation for what the hell is going on.

At present we have a government that has come to believe on the basis of whatever Ism they employ; this is a matter of confusion and disagreement; that moving digital money about rapidly by computer is the key to the future and wealth and happiness. At least for the few who are party to it, and can draw down the benefits. Some call this Capitalism, and if so, it has certainly morphed, it is very different from the pre Limited Liability form, and the early 20th Century industrial age types. One school suggests that the word now relates to systems that try to maximise the rents on what they own, and this entails the exploitation of whatever and whoever they can get their hands on. It might explain the relapse into different forms of bondage that much of present humanity endures.

If so then not only do self styled Capitalists have very different ideas of what their Ism actually is and does, but the notion becomes incomprehensible to everyone else. So as an Ism it is now redundant, and we need to dream up a whole new set of words or phrases to try to explain matters. Socialism and Communism have had that problem. In our modern world this is not easy.

Once upon a time if someone had done enough swotting, written big books that got circulated, and attracted enough interest and agreement, you could have a new Ism established in a generation or two. These days, you knock out something from a quick search of a few Wikipedia entries and the odd bit or two from Google Scholar in the morning, post it in the afternoon, then after adverse reactions and threats amend it in the evening, but by the next morning it is dead in the water and you have to start all over again.

This is not good news for philosophers or theologians, still less for economists or social scientists. It does not affect politics, but those practitioners have always had a flexible way of dealing with things. At the dawn of the 21st Century; that is by the calculations of some Isms; there are those with different dating patterns; perhaps it is time for humanity to clear out the intellectual lofts, sheds, and cupboards of what passes for all the whole world of theory.

If none of the old Isms are any use they represent obstacles to any assessment of the human condition now and in the foreseeable future, whether rational, emotional, spiritual, or even cynical. We have only what we know, and that isn’t much, what we can judge relating to the degree of perception as to what is going on around us, what our instincts may tell us, and what any notions of morality may guide us.

So why not dump the lot? Perhaps a sonic boom from a passing near earth object, or a blast of cosmic rays from some distant galactic catastrophe, or perhaps simply the total crash of our electrical supply systems from a bigger than usual solar flare might do the job for us.

Oh dear, I have just contracted a new Ism. It is called Fatalism. Does anyone share my ideas? Imagine the T Shirts, “Fatalism Is The Future” or “Fatalism Rules OK”. If you can’t beat them, join them.

Gordon Brown The Granny Basher

Artwork by “Banksy”.

Channel 4 News carried a story on Tuesday 1st September News concerning the exploitation of the very elderly in retirement developments by the controlling financial operators maximising their income streams irrespective of the consequences to those affected. And all thanks to Gordon. So if your granny or grandpa, or ancient aunt or uncle is holed up in one of these flats, and hungry, cold, and stripped of their savings you know exactly who to blame.

Because of the protection given by English law and judges to the wealthy against criticism by the poor C4 has had its lawyers crawling all over the item for months. It was a carefully crafted piece, but inevitably left gaps. The moral behind the whole story is how much of ordinary life has now been handed over to speculators and high rolling financial engineers to do their worst as they seek to do their best for their personal trusts and accounts in tax havens and secrecy jurisdictions.

This is British fair play, 21st Century government style. I start with the bog standard simple matter of routine buildings insurance. You might imagine that all the spin about competition and the rest from Brussels and London might mean anything, but not in Gordon’s alternative universe. Imagine a company being able to run a subsidiary insurance company where the holders of the policies are compelled to buy them and have no choice, where the company does not spell out what is in the policy in writing to the policy holders, where cover conventional in other insurance company policies are omitted, where claims are made verbally to House Managers, who are agents of the company, who handle any paper work, and then determined at the company office by the company.

Better still, when the inevitable happens here and there and works need to be done, the company decides who is to do it, how it shall be done, what upfront charges might be made by contractors, what administration charges to impose on the bill, and when it comes to the actual work, the company determines what the level of costs etc. are in the bill. Should the company decide that it is not covered by the policy, and who can argue, the company will decree who is to pay the bill, and if the chosen ask questions, gently remind them that it is entirely legal, and if they do not come up with the money, they might be in default on the leasehold. Should they then be eligible for eviction, the property will be sold. How fortunate the company has its very own property sales subsidiary to ensure all is dealt with properly. The ancient policy holder, who may be disabled, terminally ill, or seriously vulnerable, is, let us say, at a slight disadvantage in the transactions.

It can get even better, the properties have security systems, much needed you may think in the Britain of today (thank you Gordon again). Once more the company has a dedicated subsidiary that provides this service and determines the charges, again no choice. These it is argued tend to be on the high side. However, the company asserts that it is a better service than the competition. Up to a point, Lord Foy. It is only the service the company is willing to provide. During the working day, normally the House Manager on site deals with matters, unless they have been called to a company meeting. Out of working hours it is the security system service that deals with emergencies and queries.

However, the security system, in line with the steep increases in charges, has been streamlined. This is called “efficiency” which to the company means that the take has been significantly increased. What happens on the ground is entirely another matter. Entrance to a development is controlled by the security service who in theory issues a code to key services to allow entry through the door controls. These, in line with normal safeguards, may change. What then can happen is that because of a failure in communication the key services cannot gain access and need to call up the security service. There is no fall back to deal with this situation, because the service has been made more “efficient”. So if emergency services turn up, especially ambulances, paramedics, or doctors, and they do not have the code they are not allowed in, there is no way of finding the code and the security service does not and will not communicate with the control offices of the emergency services.

As there has been a huge reduction in nursing and residential home places, thanks to Gordon’s “care in the community”, new regulations, and a property boom, there are many more people in retirement developments completely reliant on local care and medical services. Also, hospitals these days, thanks to Gordon’s PFI schemes and ”efficiency” wheezes, send people home as soon as possible, sometimes even straight from the operating theatre. The result is many more times that emergency services are called to developments. On a bad night in the early hours, there can be more milling about than at your average motorway pile-up if they can’t get through the doors. If some mad old interfering person actually lets the ambulance crews, paramedics and police in, the company will ask the House Manager to gently suggest to them that there are legal issues. Nice touch that, right out of the government’s magic bag. Not good, however, if granny has had a bad fall, a stroke, a cardiac arrest, or is going into a diabetic coma.

It is all quite legal, as are the accounts for the individual developments, a pity that the pressures of modern life lead to so many errors and misinterpretations that seem to push up the charges. What a pity granny hasn’t got a degree in management accounting to be able to work it out and make constructive criticism. Then, of course, a related company owned by the same people has the freeholds. Since the company took over, suddenly there is a raft of extra charges for this and that, it is alleged are outside the strict terms of the leasehold. No problem, if granny wants to argue she can always go to a tribunal or the courts. Of course, the legal charges will have to be met, and the company will be able to field a team of the most expensive and expert in the business.

The original concept of this form of retirement development was to provide a secure, comfortable haven for the not so well off and where there was much less to worry about, until the time came for them to need full scale care in specialist nursing homes. There was a decent profit in it, strangely at a much lower cost and with more people employed to deal with things. After a series of takeovers, they are now in the hands of off shore based property and financial companies who regard them as milk cows providing income streams for speculative ventures and large scale financial engineering based on high leverage and the securitisation of assets. As Gordon has decided to go digital on TV, there is more to be made. The charges for satellite and cable services are amongst the most expensive in the world.

Of course, Gordon will say he was not responsible for the credit crunch, if anyone it was granny in her retirement flat refusing to go on a consumer binge, take on credit card debt or buy equity release schemes from a financial and mortgage company owned by the other company who borrow from, oh, just keep going and going. Which is exactly what is happening. William Buiter in his Maverecon blog in the FT on Wednesday, 2nd September observed “The financial sector is too big throughout the overdeveloped world in part because much of it enjoys a free state guarantee against default on its unsecured debt. Retail deposits are explicitly insured, but at premiums that imply a taxpayer subsidy. Other counterparties of banks and other systemically important financial institutions also benefit from implicit default guarantees. The cost of capital to the banking sector is subsidised, causing the sector to be too large.”

Just what has this to do with granny? Well, the company that owns all these other companies is owned by a trust, linked via other trusts and companies, to related financial entities, that are in hock big time to RBS, yup, Fred The Shredders Own Financial Dragoons, and their Viking Icelandic friends. Fred has walked away with an annual pension of around two hundred times more granny’s annual income, kindly paid for by the government that is the taxpayer. One way or another granny pays. Bail out the billionaires and bash the grannies.

What have the owners of all these companies be doing lately? Sitting on their yachts with a bunch of fawning celebrities and politicians having fun in the sun? Who amongst our ministers and Members of Parliament, I wonder, are associated with them, and enjoy the fruits of the advice and consultancy facilities for which they are paid so handsomely into accounts in secrecy jurisdictions?

And where is granny? Lying on the floor waiting for the medics who are unable to get into the building?